Graeme Stone's Diatribe

Monday, January 30, 2012

"Where is the sponge," you kept asking. Over and over. As if it were some mystery or something. So we replaced the sponge yesterday, and today this, THIS, is where I find the new sponge. But in a fetid tub of water.

The poor thing already it smells of the brackish water you left it in. Don't you know that when you leave a sponge wet, it GROWS bacteria?!?And what grows in a tub full of dirty dishwater? Bacteria. And THEN when you wipe down counter tops, or suck on said sponge out of nervous habit, you're spreading GERMS. And yes, Clark, germs are bad. And if you don't believe me, let's just look at this article on WebMD:

So to bring an end to the mystery, the missing sponge didn't just disappear, Clark — it ran away. Our investigative team turned up this comforting photo. Look how dry and curious Sal is, surrounded by nature. Don't you feel better now?

When I posted my undying love for you on OKCupid, I thought I'd at least get a phone call. I know we had not yet had our first date, but I thought the heady swirl of semi-inappropriate emotion might bring forth the kind of raw, unbridled emotions normally only felt in romance novels and on soap operas.

Please give this a second chance. And if you look outside your window weeknights 7 to 9 pm, yes, that's me in the 1991 keylime green Ford Escort, Iowa plates. (My brother-in-law works for the DMV and we looked up ever single driver in the county with the first name of Wayne until we got a picture match to your driver's license photo!)

Your dog ran up into my driveway this morning, bounding up with all his jaunty big-eyed happiness. I'm assuming he was off a leash because he's running with you. Well what he's really doing is darting off to terrorize hapless birds and innocent chipmunks (who could ever hurt a chipmunk!?) while you jog along, oblivious to the terror campaign being wrought by your incisor-teethed unleashed canine.

Furthermore, you might think that little Blondie is happy and healthy because he looks forward to these daily runs with mommy. Well what happens when Mommy gets a cold, or breaks her leg skiing in Aspen and he has to just lay on the floor pining for the days when he used to terrorize small woodland creatures? If you think that is responsible parenting, I shudder to think what illusions your children must be under.

My suggestion is that you and your dog just stay home so that none of us have to suffer any disruptions in the future. We'll all be much happier that way. You can exercise inside your home on a TotalGym™ or BunFlexer™ or some other such product while Blondy gets his own exercise inside his kennel, or the slippery surface of the bathtub which is really just like a treadmill for dogs. When the clickety-clack of his tiny claws stop, you know he's reached his daily quota.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Folks, the tally is in. If you want to run for US President on the Republican ticket, you have to have a mono-syllabic name.

Rick, Mitt, Newt, and Ron should prove my case. But let's go a little further. What happened to Michele Bachmann? She had too many syllables in her first name, that's what. And just 50% more than the other candidates. More than enough to turn voters off. Next time, she should run under her high school nickname "Mich."

But it wasn't like people threw her over like bad stew for no good reason, oh no, because Michele was courting disaster from the day she was born. Let's bring in my friend and numerologist, astrologer and plant healer: Julianna De La Fontana.

The other strike against Bachmann was too few letters in that same problematic first name. "The name Michele with just one "L" says De La Fontana, "made voters suspicious. If her name is lopsided, is it possible that her judgment as president might be missing some essential consonants as well?" De La Fontana went on to say that poor Bachmann had another strike against her, this time by too many letters, AND that extra consonant. "The extra "n" in her last name, creates more imbalance than the American public can endure." This of course makes perfect sense as she was the first to leave the race. Such a shame, she had great hair, a winning smile, and ideas we have not seen in politics.

All of the candidates still in the race have one thing in common: monosyllabic first names. Clearly the stars have aligned in some way. Even Rick Perry, now fallen on the wayside, still had some luck with his first name. Ron Paul might be the luckiest with two monosyllabic names, and a folksy manner that harkens back to the earlier time and charm of a man who darn tootin' shoulda run for office: Will Rogers.

But the race will really heat up when one of the four current candidates lands his party's nomination. If Rick Santorum gets the nomination, we'll have a three-syllable last name vs. Barack's two-syllable last name. It just doesn't get more exciting than that.

I'm sure there will be more to come when running mates are chosen. Let the best syllables win!

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Can you please stop whistling in songs? Songs are already hard enough to resist with the catchy lyrics, nearly naked dancers, and riffs that would break the concentration of a Bible scribe. If the Pope has a stereo, I promise you that instead of attending to important issues like blaming AIDS on condoms and shuttling child molesters from one parish to another he's tapping is toes right now to Top 40. And more than likely, it has a whistler in it.

From Foster the People's PUMPED KICKS, to Jason Derulo's IT GIRL and One Republic's GOOD LIFE, it seems like the airwaves have been invaded by whistling. I go to the cafe to work, not have my work interrupted by a tune I can't possibly get out of my head without hypnotherapy.

What's next, a hip hop version of SINGIN IN THE RAIN where a CG Gene Kelly busts a move and breaks out into a rap with a tag credit "feat. Eminmem?" I don't care if you want to see a sky full of lighters, if you feel like a skyscraper, or even a firework, I can't take the catchy tunes anymore.

Skinny girl in red coat, can You PLEASE Eat That Chocolate Cake Somewhere Else?!? For God's sake, it's February! A month AFTER New Year's Resolution! Don't you have any compassion for the chronologically challenged?!?

Ok, (breathe, breathe). Clearly I need to calm down. But girl in red coat, have the decency to be sensitive to the needs of others. We're not all 20ish with a pixie cut and Clinque™ skin. I know what you're doing with that smile, tossing around your youth like you don't all know we're looking at you. I see the way you're ignoring the "old man in the corner."

What I really love is how you leave part of the cake just sitting there, uneaten, seducing me with it's dark chocolaty goodness. I bet you think that I'd wait for you to leave and then swoop down on the the couch and eat whatever's left over because I have no self control. Well you're wrong you youth-obsessed fountain-of-youth harpee!

I would wait for you to throw it into the garbage, and then I would start a fire in the bathroom and while the staff was busy stopping us all from being burned to death, I'd go into the garbage and eat that cake without one ounce of guilt! Stop looking at me!

First, I know you're married, and you already have a son. But I also know that you're a generous woman looking for more in her life than "just marriage." I know that deep down, you are torn apart by the conflict of married life vs. a life with Ryan Gosling. I think I have a solution.

I don't normally read People™ Magazine (Harrison Ford once called it Peep-Hole) ever since it lowered itself from semi-respectable journalism to tabloid imitator. But I was at the gym watching back-to-back episodes of LAW & ORDER and THE CLOSER (I just love that Kyra Sedgwick), when I spotted the newest People™ (cover story MURDER AT THE PALACE. No, THAT story is NOT about Ryan Gosling — center of the male-beauty universe — but from the positioning of the headline (looming black letters emerging from behind Sandringham House), you'd think that the murder happened AT the palace, right there in the Queen's bedroom with her caught over the corpse with an ancient family dagger, but I digress.)

Despite the MURDER AT THE PALACE cover, this week's People™ is really all about Ryan Gosling's window of availability. I know, I know. It may not read like that on first viewing, Christine, but let me break it down for you. By the end of paragraph three of this blog post, you're going to have the kind of God-spoke-to-me clarity normally reserved only for end-of-the-world-date revisionists and Pat Robertson.

Now, Ryan has often stated that his relationships to Sandra, Rachel, and Blake were all victims of the eternal Hollywood struggle between love and work. It's just so difficult to balance international stardom and candle-lit dinners; everyone knows how that is, right. BUT, Ryan has been quoted more than once as saying that once he starts making babies (isn't that cute, like the little ones will just pop out onto a conveyor belt or something), his career will take a back seat. You heard him Christine: IT'S EITHER ONE OR THE OTHER. And here's where your Ryan Gosling Window™ comes in, Christine.

Eva Mendes (just think of your smile, but with darker skin), his new squeeze is "ambivalent" says a source at People™ about kids, while Ryan on the other hand "wants a family." Now Christine, if that doesn't scream Opportunity™, I just don't know what does. PLUS, Ryan loves candy and Disneyland!!!

Well guess who has wide access to candy (you) AND a season pass to Disneyland™ (you)!!!! If there was ever a sign from God that you should pile John and little Henry into your Honda Fit™ and enter into a confusing polygamous relationship as Ryan Gosling's babymaker, this is it!!!